Miro was thankful there was only the one road from the free cities to Sarostar. Of course, the enemy could land anywhere, but the forests were too thick for them to penetrate through easily, and Sentar would never attempt a time-consuming push through the tangled trees. No, Sentar’s way was to take his opponents head-on, overwhelm any defenses, add the dead to his army, and push on. If Miro were attacking the Empire, he would land at these beaches, push through the defenses on the road to Sarostar, and the way to the Empire’s heart would be open.
Miro had cleared the land in front of the wall, creating a huge killing ground. Below him, past the killing ground, the city of Castlemere looked weak and defenseless. Built to encircle a natural harbor, Castlemere barely had a wall; it was more of a wooden fence. The forest had stretched nearly all the way to that wall, but now it was gone. In its place were hidden ditches marked with cautioning red flags: the flags would be removed when the enemy came. Red and black markers indicated buried runebombs and big barrels of black powder. Rounded, heavy boulders painted white allowed Miro to gauge distances for his cannon, mortars, and archers.
The defensive wall was high and broad, but unlike the wall outside Sarostar, there were no ramparts; the men would fight from behind the wall rather than on top. It now took Miro over an hour to walk from one end to the other, and he’d piled tree trunks at each end all the way to the forest and even continued the barrier of logs inside. Only a colossus could lift those trunks.
He wanted the enemy to hit him from the front.
Castlemere was usually a bustling place, the larger of the two trader cities, but aside from the dock, filled with ships and sailors, the small city below was eerily quiet. The populations of the two cities had been evacuating ever since Miro’s story became common knowledge, straining Sarostar’s already stretched resources even further. Of course, even in Castlemere and Schalberg, stubborn citizens always remained.
In the distance, Miro watched as a huge Veldrin warship tacked back and forth to enter Castlemere’s harbor. The fourteen Veldrin ships were all here, as were several Buchalanti vessels. Only the Buchalanti storm riders were scouting—they were faster than any other vessel—while the Veldrin ships stayed in harbor, crews at the ready.
Miro thought about his naval strategy. He was aware that he knew little about fighting on the sea, and so he would leave it to those he trusted with his homeland’s fate. As if on cue, Miro saw Commodore Deniz and Sailmaster Scherlic weaving through the deadly defenses of the killing ground as they approached.
“Sailmaster,” Miro said, clasping Scherlic’s hand and then turning to Deniz. “Commodore. It’s good to see you both.”
Deniz and Scherlic had as many similarities as they had differences. Both had the weather-beaten skin of men who had spent most of their lives at sea, with leathery faces and rugged features. Both were tall, but Deniz wore an elegant uniform of blue and brown, whereas Scherlic wore a belted coral-pink robe. Of the two, only Deniz was armed, wearing a fine sword at his belt, with a gem-crusted hilt. As always, Deniz had a three-cornered hat with a blue feather on his head. Deniz was friendly, but his eyes were penetrating. Scherlic was dour and intimidating, one of the few men who made Miro uncomfortable.
“What news?” Miro asked.
“Still nothing,” Scherlic said. “Our three storm riders scour the seas. Well, two storm riders at the moment. The Infinity is at harbor.” He made the final statement sound like an accusation. “As soon as I finish here, we’ll leave once more.”
“Is it worth sending out Veldrin ships as well?” Miro asked.
“No,” Deniz said. “The Buchalanti ships are much faster than ours. Our warships are powerful, but we can’t risk a single vessel. Better that we leave the scouting to the Buchalanti.”
Miro nodded. “When the time comes, I’d like to send a bladesinger with each of you.”
“To what end?” said Scherlic.
“Essence,” Miro said. “If I know our enemy, he’s impatient. He’ll have gathered the essence he needs to open the portal before leaving. If there’s a ship we can identify as holding a great deal of essence, my bladesingers have orders to do anything they can to see it sunk . . . even if it means their lives. Defeating one of the Evermen will be hard enough without facing more. We can’t allow the portal to be opened.”
“As long as your bladesingers don’t get in the way,” Scherlic said.
“They know their business,” Miro responded.
He wished he had more bladesingers, and he hated to risk two in this way, but success would be worth the risk. Bartolo was busy training the recruits at the Pens, but only one of Bartolo’s recruits had been deemed good enough to be elevated, and even then he’d lost half an ear in testing. Miro touched the scar on his face. He supposed half an ear wasn’t a bad outcome.
“Commodore, tell me again about how many ships they might have.”
“Impossible to say,” Deniz said, “but I can name four cities south of Emirald, each with a small navy the enemy could have captured. Then there are the pirate kings.”